


how to tell him

by questionableatbest



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionableatbest/pseuds/questionableatbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"i have the biggest crush on you but you're completely oblivious and your friend told me you really liked this thing so now I'm pretending I love it too but shit you started buying me so much stuff about it and idk how to tell you I don't like it"</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to tell him

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is from a prompt I got on tumblr that kind of got away from me... Enjoy!
> 
> (Also, you should totally come visit me on tumblr- campwellsjaha!)

“Clarke, would you just go talk to him?” Wells asked, startling Clarke, who hadn’t realized just how obvious she was being, staring at Bellamy from where he was sitting across the room from her.

“And what do I say? Every time we talk we end up fighting,” Clarke groaned, knowing that there was virtually no point in lying to Wells about it- he knew everything, without ever having to be told. It was kind of scary.

“Just talk about something he likes,” Wells suggested, making it sound like the easiest thing in the world, which it definitely wasn’t- the conversations her and Bellamy had could be classified as less than civil, at best. 

“Great idea Wells,” Clarke replied, sarcasm evident in her voice as she threw her hands up in the air, almost spilling her drink in the process, “Only one problem- Bellamy Blake doesn’t like anything.”

“Sure he does,” Wells countered, though the slight squint taking over his face and his pursed lips didn’t really prove his point, and when he opened his mouth and said, “He likes… History? And Octavia?” Clarke really didn’t feel any better.

But then she glanced away from Wells, exasperation seeping through her as her eyes found Bellamy again, but this time he noticed and before she knew what was happening he was excusing himself from his conversation and walking straight towards them.

“Hey,” he greeted her briefly (as usual) before turning his attention to Wells, partaking in one of those man hug/handshake/high five things that she’d never understood, asking him, “You still coming over to watch the game tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” Wells promised, before he pushed himself up off his spot on the wall and excused himself with an awkward and somewhat forced, “But I’ve got to go… over there now, so I’ll see you later,” sufficiently leaving Clarke alone with Bellamy, ignoring the glares that they both sent him.

“What game are you watching?” Clarke tried, feeling her hope fall when she saw the skeptical look he gave her.

“Does it matter? You hate sports, Princess,” he said, his smile showing that he meant no harm with the slightly accusatory words.

“Right…” Clarke trailed off, trying to ignore the patronizing tone she detected, and looking away and then back to him when a thought crossed her mind, “Hey, did you see the latest episode of Game of Thrones?”

“You watch Game of Thrones?” Bellamy asked, raising an eyebrow at her as she nodded her head, trying her best to look convincing.

“Sure,” she replied, before correcting herself slightly, “I mean, I’ve only just finished the first season, but it’s really good so far!”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, the words holding a challenge in them, though she was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining the way he looked slightly more interested, “What did you think of the ending?”

“It was… crazy,” she decided upon, hoping it was the right response and continuing when he looked like he was waiting for more of a reply, “I mean, I didn’t see it coming, but they’ve set it up for the next season to be great?”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds after that, studying her face intently and (probably) wondering why her answer was so damn vague, but then he nodded his head in approval, and before she knew it he was in the middle of analyzing every little thing that had happened on the show.

Truthfully, it was kind of boring and she had no idea who Stannis was (she’d only ever seen the first few episodes), but when he leaned an arm against the wall she was leaning on, standing in front of her and staring intently at her the whole time, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

*

Saturday 2:16 PM  
Bellamy- Have you started the second season yet?  
Clarke- I haven’t had a chance to… I’ve been busy studying   
Bellamy- Let me know when you do!

*

Monday 9:56 PM  
Bellamy- Are you sure Sansa’s your favourite?  
Clarke- Yes! She’s 11. Give her a break!  
Bellamy- Whatever you say…

*

Wednesday 8:34 AM  
Bellamy- What do you think of Tyrion?  
Clarke- He’s alright, I guess?  
Bellamy- ALRIGHT? That’s all you have to say? Are we watching the same show?

*

Thursday 6:58 PM  
Bellamy- Have you read the books?  
Clarke- No, I haven’t had a chance  
Bellamy- Just like you haven’t had a chance to start the second season?  
Clarke- Not all of us can completely dedicate our lives to fictional characters!  
Bellamy- You’re borrowing them from me. I’ll be over in 15 minutes.

*

“RAVEN,” Clarke yelled from her spot on her bed, where she was staring in horror at the message on her cellphone. “RAVEN GET IN HERE.”

“Christ Clarke, WHAT?” Raven asked, looking more annoyed than concerned as she pushed open the bedroom door and leaned against the frame.

“He’s bringing the books,” was all Clarke said before she buried her face in her pile of pillows, trying to drown out her friends’ hysterical laughter. “This is NOT funny.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Raven prodded, the delight in her voice paired with the smile on her face being more than Clarke could handle. “You got yourself into this- Just tell him you don’t like the series!”

“But then he’ll ask why I pretended,” Clarke protested, trying desperately to get the sympathy that she felt she deserved. “Then what do I say?”

“That you want to jump his bones?”

“RAVEN!”

“Seriously Clarke, the guy is oblivious to anything that’s happened within the past couple millenniums- you’re going to have to spell it out for him if you actually want anything to happen,” Raven pointed out, her frank tone telling Clarke that she was right, whether or not she wanted to believe it.

“This is terrible,” Clarke groaned, not denying Raven’s claims but still not wanting to admit just how true they were.

“You could always ask O for advice,” Raven suggested.

“I’m not asking my friend for advice on how to get her brother’s attention,” Clarke declined, resigning herself to whatever fate awaited her. “Kill me now?”

“You’re going to be fine,” Raven assured her, sending one last smile (and a barely detectable eye roll) in Clarke’s direction before she made her way out of the room, leaving Clarke to try and come up with a plan.

Of course, before she had a chance to actually think of what to say she heard a knock at their door and had to pull herself out of bed, going to answer it.

(She choose to ignore the, “Someone’s getting laid tonight,” that she could have sworn she heard Raven sing as she walked past her bedroom).

“Hey Bellamy,” she greeted him weakly as she opened the door, her smile only faltering slightly when her gaze fell to the huge pile of books in his arms.

“Hey Princess,” he replied casually, taking a step around her and heading straight for the couch, where he took his usual spot and dropped the books on his lap, looking confused when he saw that Clarke was still standing beside the door.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked, wincing even before the words came out of her mouth, and her face turned bright red as she wandered towards him, sitting on the other side of the couch.

“The books? The ones I said I was bringing?” he replied, not trying to hide his confusion, “You okay, Clarke? You’re acting kind of weird.”

“Right,” she stuttered, biting her lower lip and looking away before facing him again, taking a deep breath and realizing that the truth was probably her best option. “So here’s the thing; I hate Game of Thrones.”

“What? Why? It’s a great show,” he defended it, the outrage obvious in his voice as his brows furrowed together in confuusion. Clarke continued to stare at him, thinking momentarily that she’d get off easy, but then his eyes narrowed and he sat up a little bit straighter, and he asked, “Wait, why did you pretend to like it?” 

“So… We would have something to talk about?” she tried, raising an eyebrow and waiting to see if he would buy the excuse that really didn’t make any sense.

“And why do you want to talk to me?” he pushed, looking genuinely curious, if not downright confused.

“Because…” Clarke trailed off before sighing, sending a quick prayer to whatever god was listening, hoping that Raven and Wells were right, and finally saying, “I… like you?”

He sat there in stunned silence for a second, and Clarke was just about ready to apologize for the whole ordeal when he threw his head back and started laughing harder than she’d ever seen.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY,” she protested, leaning towards him and reaching out a hand to shove at his shoulder, not really doing any damage (because holy shit, she knew that he works out, but holy shit). 

“You like me?” he repeated her words once he calmed down, a huge smile still playing on his face, though it didn’t look mocking at all, and that was promising.

“I know, it’s surprising,” she lashed out slightly, “I mean, I can’t think of any explanation either- I’m fantastic and you’re… well… you.”

“Shut up Clarke- you like me,” Bellamy taunted, apparently provoked by her attempt at an insult. “You like me, you like me,” he continued singing, enjoying her embarrassment altogether way too much.

“Alright Blake,” she said, “That’s enough- you know the truth, you can go now.”

“Go? Why would I go?” he wondered, the confusion once again clouding his face as she pulled back, wrapping her arms around her legs and trying her best to hide the hurt that was washing through her, because for a second she’d thought he might reciprocate the feelings, but it was pretty clear she’d been wrong.

“Well, I don’t want your stupid books, and I don’t like Game of Thrones- it’s kind of misogynistic, you know that right?- so why would you want to stay?” she concluded with a small shrug and an even smaller smile.

“Okay, first of all, the books aren’t stupid and Game of Thrones is a good show- the media we consume is literally riddled with misogyny; just because it’s more obvious in Game of Thrones doesn’t mean the show is worse than anything else you watch,” he started off, apparently not being able to move around the fact that she didn’t like his precious show. “And secondly, who says I don’t like you too?”

“So I should just accept the fact that misogyny is everywhere and keep watching a show that continuously blurs the lines of consent and uses the words ‘cunt’ and ‘woman’ interchangeably?” she protested, because debating was something she could do in her sleep, and admitting her feelings to Bellamy was not.

“I’m not saying you have to accept it Clarke,” he countered, “I’m just saying that if you’re going to judge it based on the misogyny, then you should treat the other shows you watch the same way- and did you hear the part where I said I like you?”

“Bellamy, I’m critical of all of the media I consume,” she assured him, her tone harsher than necessary, but she was a little bit offended that he would suggest otherwise, and the last part of his statement really did throw her off, to the point where, “And- oh,” was the only response to it she could come up with.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” he asked, sounding more than a little bit exasperated as he raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in his seat. “When it comes to a feminist analysis of Game of Thrones you can’t stop talking, and you can tell me that you like me, but when I say it back that’s all you’ve got to say?”

“You talked about the stupid show for hours!” she all but yelled, before continuing in a less dignified fashion. “Well… I just…” she stuttered, trying desperately to find a valid response, before she finally let out one last, frustrated sigh and launched herself across the couch. 

With one hand on his shoulder and the other on his face, she crashed her mouth onto his, pausing momentarily when she realized what she was doing. But then his hands were on either side of her waist pulling her closer, and his tongue brushed lightly against his lips, and the noise he made when she straddled his lap (pushing those goddamn books out of the way in the process) was almost too much for her to handle.

They pulled apart a few seconds later, though Bellamy didn’t let her go far, leaning his forehead against hers as they both breathed deeply.

“Happy?” she asked, trying to infuse her voice with at least a hint of malice, but coming up short.

Bellamy scoffed at that, but then he was pressing a quick, chaste kiss on her forehead, and when he pulled back he replied with a simple, “You know Princess, I really am,” and that was all she needed to hear.


End file.
